-
I bought the yellow velvet curtains And I hung them in my room Where I needed a reminder that there is sunlight And a perfect golden hour right before dusk settles. They call the first hour after a birth The golden hour A time when this world touches the one From whence the baby came…
-
The next time Eden and Annie saw Meg, she was with Park, and there was no trace of the crying, nearly cowering, shrinking woman that had accompanied the other man to the coffee shop on Meg’s previous visit. The coffee house employees watched the couple as they always did, and Meg and Park did what…
-
The next day, Annie was not working and Eden wished that was not the case around 11:30, when Meg walked into the coffeehouse with another guy. It was nearly shocking. Meg’s entire demeanor was different. She was not smiling. Her hair was not shining. She was not glowing from happiness. She looked tired, old and…
-
“Hey Park,” Eden said as he slowly approached the counter. “Cappuccino today? Or you wanna do the flat white again?” She began to take a fresh cup off the stack next to the register, her pen ready to scribble down his order. “Oh, cappuccino is fine,” he said. He always seemed timid when they spoke,…
-
They started coming into the coffeehouse about 8 months ago. The woman was perhaps in her mid-forties. She colored her hair. Sometimes the roots grew out to where Eden could see them, streaks of gray among the black. She was about Eden’s height, a little over 5 foot 3, unless she was wearing heels. And…
-
My choir probably would not function even half as well if not the continual work of one of our volunteers, affectionately known as JSK. On a recent Saturday morning, when he jumped into a situation to save me a minor headache, he sarcastically said that I’d better write him a poem. I keep my promises.…
-
I started writing a prequel story to my first novel, The World Between, near the end of 2021. I have not worked on it much in the last two years, but I have a few ideas on paper at this point, including a complete prologue. I shared the first section of the prologue last year…
-
When the text came to her phone, pinging like a clear bell in the finally silent house, she almost didn’t look at it. Whoever it was could wait until morning. These night time hours were precious—when she could draw, or paint, ink, stamp, glue, print, tape in peace. Amy finished the last stroke, letting…
-
Yesterday’s ponytail Is tied up with the bands of an easy morning That doesn’t start until I want it to And demands nothing of me as I drink my coffee The cares of the week left unnoticed Like the oil that will eventually need to be Shampooed from my bed head, After I’ve contemplated nothing…
The Quick and the Dead
Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.
The Quick and the Dead 